Schrei Der Angst : Verrüct
by Zaryl Verscholen
Summary: 'The high-hertzian frequency electricity had been proven as a valuable weapon in the 2013 war. Now, we need a portable version.' . (Sequel to Schrei Der Angst : Taüschung. A now full story. Rated T for safety. Slight AU because of anthro dragons.)
1. Chapter 1

**SCHREI DER ANGST : VERRÜCT**

**AN ONESHOT OF THE SCHREI DER ANGST SERIES**

** TAKES PLACE AFTER THE EVENTS OF STERBEN**

Polyanka station, Moscovian underground metro

15 December 2035

Morning

Thal Verscholen

With a stir, the dragon woke up, slowly. For once, this wasn't a bad dream. No, it was a dreamless night… A talk with Obsidian, to be more precise.

It had gone well. He was happy that they finally buried the flaming hatchet between us.

Obsidian wasn't bad. He had genuine reasons to hate on Thal. Thal always did put all of his mistakes on Obsidian… The latter quickly realized that and didn't like it. Might he be his second personality, he was sentient by itself. He could feel emotions. Hence, he had a body. Even if he looked exactly like Thal, not for the orange marks, it was still something.

He felt something heavy in his right paw. Turning his head to look at it, it was a revolver. Maybe he was too afraid that Lezer would throw him back into a lab for the third time. With a head shook, the weapon escaped his paw, and dropped to the ground.

With that cleared, it was time for something very important.

Thal reached for the transparent bottle at the left foot of the bed. He was reassured to find one waiting to be gulped down along with his bad thoughts, and his soreness. With a quick movement of his other paw that he learned to do swiftly over the course of weeks, the dragon removed the cheap cork of the bottle. And after that, he brought the neck to his maw, opening it a little, revealing his broken grey teeth. If he were to bit someone, the wound would look like a glass stab.

Finally, he bit on the bottleneck, resting his paws on the bed, letting him a firm grip on the bottle, before lifting his head up, letting the Vodka flow into his maw.

It was some kind of ritual, to drink a little when he woke up. Of course, it didn't help with his situation, but it was sure one hell of a relaxer, at last, for him. There was no pleasure in it.

After he drank as much as his throat allowed to, he sat the bottle down carefully, not even bothering to cork it, and let his head rest again the pillow.

It was a normal morning for him. Waking up with the drench of himself. If only they had installed a shower when everyone was alive back then… This thought automatically dissipated out of his mind, maybe the work of Obsidian. Thal didn't care much about the actions of Obsidian anymore, as long as they weren't hallucinations about his past life.

Fifteen minutes passed. They weren't long, as the ethanol quickly reached Thal's low blood flow, making him a little lightheaded. He liked that, because that state made him unable to process anything logical, which was the best in some situations.

He finally decided to get out of bed. With all his will in the world, he brought his paw to a nearby pipe at his right to lift himself up from the heavens that were his bed.

No one was waiting for him, apart from the devil, so why was he waking up like that? He could have slept all day, then have a night with Obsidian… So why was he rushing it? He couldn't tell it, so he dropped the matter,

Unfortunately, he rose up too fast, making him fall muzzle first on the concrete floor. It could have been comical, minus the bruised scales and the broken muzzle it could do, but Thal knew how to avoid it, thanks to his half-sober reflexes. He brought his free paw to his face and took the impact.

It did not hurt, at first, but a sound came out of his paw. Thal didn't question it furthermore, and ignored the sting. He didn't care about his body and his scales, as it only brought chaos and hate. It would heal in one hour, thanks to his creators.

Born with dark scales, Thal didn't have much luck, as they were believed to bring nothing but destruction. Which was pretty true, if you took him for example.

After what seemed to be a while, for him at last, he rose up slowly, lifting himself up with his 'not harmed' paw. Getting back on his back paws was the day's victory for him. More like 'every day's victory'.

The dragon looked around his shoulder, to see his tail. It had grown back a bit. But at this rate, he might had to slice it again before it would be back as its usual size.

He remembered the painful choice of it. Limb or life, it was the best way to put it. Like some kind of toll.

That toll annoyed him sometimes, as his balance was broken because of it. He was more likely to fall in front of him, demonstrated minutes ago.

Though, it had some kind of advantage, as weird as it could be. He could sit on a chair and not getting stepped on his tail.

To one memory to another, the train of his thought stopped on his wings.

His wings. He hated this word. They were nonexistent, and it pained him just thinking about it.

Lezer sliced his wings right off. With a knife. It was like he took the fins of a shark, just cut the growths off and let the bastard drown. It was like that for him.

Having no wings meant lots of things.

And none of them were good.

He could never fly again. He never flew in his entire life anyways…

The others made fun on that, and he secretly hid his pain with growls. They didn't knew how it felt like.

And he hoped that no one ever know it.

Having the through of these two things made him even more lightheaded than the Vodka did.

He swallowed back what was remaining of his last meal before walking to the 'kitchen'.

It wasn't that fancy. It was just a fridge, if you could call a wooden box attached to a pre-war cooler a fridge, some kind of cooking plate, a piece of metal connected to a battery, and a 'pan', since anything with a wooden handle could do. A circle of metal bent to make it hollow and the wooden handle.

Thal crouched to the fridge. He opened it, revealing some greyish meat. Nosalis meat.

A Nosalis was a common mutant in the Metro. It was aggressive, but not armored. Even a .25 would end its suffering if it was between the eyes. But the worst part would be to eat it. The meat, even boiled for one year would taste horrible. But it was nourishing. Force over taste? This was the best way to put it.

With his not-harmed paw, he pulled out the meat out of the fridge. He would never run out of that thing. He could just open the door to the maintenance tunnel, bring in his favorite lead delivery service and have a stock for one month in two hours.

He flipped the switch connecting the battery to the metal plate. In less time that you could fire all the bullets of an AK-47 clip, it was red hot. Thal put the pan over it with the disgusting meat.

The smell of a rotting body came to his nostrils. With a huff, he breathed it out. He knew that it tasted horrible, but in the Metro, you take what you can get.

As the meat sizzled while dispersing a foul scent into the station, Thal looked at the mirror that was attached to a wall.

He looked horrible. He admitted it himself. Broken black horns and spines. Dirty black scales that were greyer from the dust. A short and dehydrated mouth and muzzle. Half-infected wounds from one month ago. He didn't bother to heal them.

Yes, there was no hope for him to find a third mate.

As he suppressed the memories of Lym, his attention went to the meat. He flipped it over with his claws, not caring if they were dirty, and waited once again.

After it finally cooked, Thal flipped back the switch, sat down on some kind of stool, took the meat in his paws, careful this time to not burn his trigger finger, the most important part of his body for himself, and took a bite.

It tasted like rotten eggs mixed with vinegar and toothpaste. He swallowed it, ignoring the horrid taste as much as he could, before reaching a quite handy bottle of Vodka, and washed the taste with it.

He was never drunk enough for a fact. All he wanted was to be wasted as heck so that the day would end shortly. But he had a limited supply of Vodka to begin with, so he had to waste time instead.

He continued eating the disgusting meat, washing it down to his stomach with Vodka.

After that, he rose from where he sat, and thought. What could he do, now that 'breakfast' was eaten?

A deep breath outside? If you consider all kinds of poisonous gas with a carbon atom was fresh air, then it would be acceptable. But not much for himself.

Getting drunk and 'meditate'? Not much for the first, but not really for the second. He had a different idea of meditation, and it involved his right paw. But he didn't need it now.

Shooting gallery? Why not. After all, he had an almost unlimited supply of bullets, thanks to that 'ammo creator something-something', how Thal describes it.

Polyanka, in the year of 2035, didn't have any hallucinatory gas in it, thanks to the working ventilation system. But, though, it was abandoned, and never took as transit. It had to do with the fact that a monster used to live here. He met that monster. It was just a dragon with a removed wing and a concussion.

Now he might be the monster. He sighed, before smirking at the though.

The shooting range was on the rails. He hopped on them, looking at the different range of targets which were bottles of Vodka, pieces of pipes…

He turned his head to the left, noticing the array of weapons.

An AK-47, another one with the numbers reversed, some 9mm pistol… And other weapons that his allies never had the chance to finish building. He decided to go with the first option.

The Avtomat Kalashnikova, model 1947. For a gun expert, the description would sound like this.

'A 7.62×39 automatic assault rifle. Common in the Metro, it is very reliable and trusted for its stopping capacity. It is mostly used as a personal defense weapon.'

But to who knew Thal, it would sound like this.

'A lead-delivering automatic murder machine. Common in his paw, it is very dangerous and untrusted because of the wielder. It is mostly used in mass genocide.'

His maw revealed another smirk as he wondered about that. He was really a killer, murderer, and a psychopath. And he was sure of it, along with Obsidian, the voice in his head.

Obsidian… He always had mixed opinions on him. Sure, he tried to break him and all, but was he really the bad one? He always said what was right…

Before he could degrade himself and his inexistent pride, he pulled the bolt of the weapon and aimed down the dirty sights in direction of the empty bottles, firm grip on the lead dispenser.

He took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.

The ear-shattering sound of powder detonating rang in all of the tunnel. The fired bullet flew into its glassy target, and went through it, delivering a powerful kinetic force, turning the bottle into glass shrapnel, ready for someone to get stuck into.

He quickly aimed for a piece of pipe, standing on its own. With his fast-acting reflexes, and the slow rate of fire of the murder machine, at each shot he changed target.

After the weapon finally dry-fired, Thal unloaded it, letting the plastic-and-spring clip fall on the ground.

He looked at the damage done. There was broken glass, pieces of metal, spent cartridges all over the floor.

He didn't bother to clean that mess. He was too sober to think to do something good.


	2. Chapter 2

After dropping the murder weapon on the table made for it, his look went from the pipes of the tunnel back to the door of a little room.

He wanted to see them again.

So he slowly walked to the door, his scales bruising on themselves as he walked, and opened the door.

It would be the janitor's closet, in the old world. But for Thal, it was

There was piles of scales on a table, and a pile of grey ashes at the far right.

From left to right, there was green, red, orange, and the pile of ashes.

His mind focused on the green ones.

_It can hurt me all it want_, he said. _She's never going to come back._

Funny, it was the first time he was facing reality.

Lym was a dragoness with scales as green as pre-war grass. Horns that kept the neutral tone of grey along with her primary color, eyes as grey as gunpowder, and a long scar across the neck, showing that she escaped 'someone'. It wouldn't be surprising to say that could be Thal, but it wasn't.

She was from the Reich, a perk of her clear scales. And, the most remarkable thing, was her case of Stockholm syndrome. What happened was that Thal, along with his now dead friends, needed a hostage from the Reich, to pull some information out of the prisoner's muzzle. Lym had the bad luck to be the guard at the same time Thal went in. One single strike on the head and there she was. Dragged to Polyanka by a psychopathic dragon that took maintenance tunnels to access her station, ready to be tortured and executed just for unknown knowledge on weapon caches, supplies…

Or so she thought.

Actually, for her, it wasn't the worst experience she had. First off, she hadn't been stabbed in the neck in a Communist attack, four years ago. She didn't knew how she survived it, so she just 'ignored' it, but her scar followed her everywhere.

Two, almost getting dismembered by a Panzer armored tank attack, one year ago. She was defending the front of Twerskaja when the Communists attacked, both on D-6, the principal Ranger base.

It was bloody. That was the only words she could describe. Bullets flew by her side, cries of pain and loss were heard, the constant sound of gunfire… She had nightmares of a special part. The one where she almost took an Armor Piercing shell to the chest. Thanks the Metro gods if they were still alive that she saw the cannon heading in her direction two seconds ago. Though the concrete wall resisted, because of the impact, she had a very bad concussion, like if she was shot in the head and survived. She wasn't in a combat stance as she didn't knew what sight out of the five on her weapon to aim in. She managed to escape the wrath of the bloody machine and almost crawled back to safety. Hopefully, the shock troopers, with their 'pepperboxes', 'grinded' the enemy to their death. She just escaped with a concussion, but it could had been much worse.

And the day before getting snatched, she was reprimanded. It wasn't that physical, but it really wore her down. She accidentally harmed someone at the shooting range because she didn't know how to throw a grenade really far. The harmed one was not in danger, but for her…

She was called to the station's leader. The all mighty one. White scales, a glare that could shatter bulletproof glass, and an 'iron fist', if that term wasn't for the Communists.

She remembered how she was yelled at. Treated like a worthless 'piece of dirt' that cannot even toss a grenade. And the correctional effect that came as a bad scratch to the face, and guard duty for one month. Next time, she better learn how to throw it.

And she escaped all of this just to die, captured by an 'inferior' dragon. She wasn't as prideful of her scales, compared to the massive pride of white-scaled drakes. She liked her color, not only because of the perks of it, but because it reminded her of the old world color pictures she saw in some books. A lively green.

But because of that, a lot of dragons tried to get her as a mate. Which she gently refused, because she knew it would just be to 'satisfy their urges', not true love. She wanted a mate, not someone that just show their appearance to get a female.

She was tied to a chair in Polyanka. Wings attached to the body, cuffed at the front paws, and back paws attached to the chair too. She was like paralyzed. The only thing she really had was her eyes, ears, and tongue.

The first time she saw Thal, she was surprised. The missing wings, the tail, the horns… And the scale color. Everyone knew that a black dragon should be killed as soon as possible in the Metro. But there he was, sixteen years old, a little taller than her, full of scars and still living. If he couldn't talk, some would confound him for a ghoul-like entity,

Secretly, she kind of felt sorry for her own snatcher, her guard. The one that tied her to the ground, trying to take her liberty away. But she was still looking at him with a worried look.

And he noticed that.

On his side, he felt somewhat guilty of snatching a female like that. He could had done the effort of waiting for a sturdier guard, but he didn't.

And might it be the Reich's fault that his wings are not present where they should be, he didn't have the heart of torturing her.

Before capturing a Reich member, he wondered what he could do to him. Burn him with a blowtorch. Waterboard him. Rip his tooth away. Cut his paws, and finally, strangle him to death.

It seemed exciting, at first. But after seeing the dragoness… Why would he do that, anyways? It won't bring his wings back, so…

He actually fell in love. With a dragoness. From the enemy faction. That probably hates him…

Three days after she was captured, because they couldn't squeeze any information for the dragoness, Thal and the others released her.

But she stayed.

She knew that the Reich wouldn't be so happy that she 'supposedly' left her guard duty 'to be captured by a wingless dragon'. She wished to have her brain lead-free, so she stayed.

As the hours passed, she observed Thal. She had never seen a black dragon before. They were killed before they could reach an advanced age like him…

And so, she became somewhat attached to the dragon.  
_What am-I doing… _she asked herself many times. She learnt to hate dark-scales dragons, to kill them on sight. And she somehow grew attached to one of them. _Did I fell in love?_ she asked herself sarcastically.

The truth is, yes.

As much as she wanted to not fall in love with a drake like that… She couldn't contain herself. May she was scarred everywhere, she loved this dragon. There was no shame in that.

So, five days after her capture, she told him.

The smile on Thal's face could had been seen miles away this day. Obsidian kept saying _Oh god, abandon mind… _this day, jokingly. May Obsidian be his split personality, Thal always loved how he was cynic.

As they kissed, a grey scaleless dragon, known by the name of Draka, looked. Angry. Thal did notice it, but he assumed it was jealousy. After all, he was the one getting the dragoness, no?

They didn't mate, as Draka expected. They wanted to be 'ready' before that. Not just as an 'urge reliever', but as a true act of love.

But, as always with Thal, things got wrong two days after this.

He remembered how it went. Too fast. A single fifty caliber bullet flew by and hit Lym straight in the head. She dropped dead, like that.

This day, Thal could consider it as the worst in his life.

Entii, the human named Al, and Lym…

No one escapes a bullet to the head. Even if they are from Draka's.

And there Thal was, observing a pile of green scales. Tears tried to swell up to his eyes, but he put a fight against them.

He didn't want to remember more. He didn't want to tear up, as the Vodka already took the water in his body.

_Tears won't bring her back_, he reminded himself.

This pile of scales was what was left of her. Just a simple memorial, if you could call it a memorial.

Though, he grabbed one off the table, looking at it. It still was beautiful, even after one hundred fifty-one and a half days.

He decided to always carry it with him. He slipped it under a scale of his chest, close to the heart.

Then, suddenly, a metallic thud was heard in the direction of the main outside entrance.

_Mutants, again? _ Obsidian said though the back of Thal's mind.

Thal shook his head in denial. No, couldn't be. They were either coming from the maintenance tunnel, not-

He felt a sharp pain in the neck. Before he could growl his discomfort, he felt numb.

And in a matters of seconds, and a pronounced 'Oh, no.' from Obsidian, Thal fell to the ground and lost consciousness.


End file.
